


Year's End

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Shards and Sparks [44]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: The ritual of season's end, of year's end, is one that is new-come to Erebor with Dwalin's mercenary company.





	Year's End

"Of all the money that e'er I had, I spent it in good company...."

The soft words were enough to quiet the rest of the restless mercenaries gathered in the hall, and the next lines of the verse fall into a silence as reverent as any when the song of the exile from Erebor was begun.

Alari's voice is soon joined Hrafn's deep bass, and the light tenor of Bern, weaving harmonies around the melody. Slowly the others join, leaving those from outside the company to listen.

The last words are once more Alari alone, her voice wavering a little in the deep silence, and when she lets the last note fade, she raises her mug in a wordless toast to those they've lost in the last year.

Dwalin reaches over to rest a hand on Kíli's shoulder when the lad opens his mouth to ask a question, shaking his head. This is not the time to ask for the story of the tradition of season's end, the laying to rest of sorrow with the dying of the year.

"From stone and song were we made, and to ash we will go with blood on our blades." Síndri speaks the first words to break the silence, standing to lift her mug and drain it dry.

"To battle we are born and called, and we are in peace laid upon the pyre." Sarka's mug is set down a little heavily after she drains it, and though she smiles, it holds more of winter than summer.

Bern takes up the next line, and Gúlvar the one after that, the soft chant of blood and battle, of loss and love, of memory and tales, passed along from one to the next until it is exhausted.

Dwalin stands when the silence has fallen again, stepping up onto the table so he can be seen by everyone without strain. Lifting his untouched mug in toast. "Season has ended, and the year with it. May the next be profitable and the pyres scarce."

Once mugs are drained again, and Dwalin's stepped back off the table, murmurs start up again, chatter slowly rising until it is as if it had never ceased.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr and Dreamwidth 3 November 2015.


End file.
